


The One With the Handcuffs

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Handcuffs, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9648233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: After spending a night in the backseat of the Impala, you walk into the motel room to find Dean, naked and handcuffed to the bed.





	

The last thing you expected to see when you stepped into the motel room was a very naked Dean. But that’s not why your mouth fell open. It was the handcuffs. Yeah, Dean Winchester was handcuffed to the bed. Nothing you hadn’t seen or experimented with before, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that around Dean’s wrists and headboard was a pair of fuzzy, leopard-print handcuffs.

“Would you shut the goddamn door,” he half-shouted, shifting under the sheet as he glared at you.

You couldn’t keep from snorting in amusement. “What’sa matter, Dean? Afraid someone’ll put you on the tackiest handcuffs list?”

Dark eyes narrowed as you laughed. “Shut. The. Goddamn. Door,” he ground out angrily.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, slamming the door harder than was necessary. You kicked off your boots and, rather than going over to the bed, you started to shuck your jacket. “Have a nice night with, oh, what was her name?” You snapped your fingers as you pretended to think.

He spat out her name, hands clenched and shaking, the metal links _clanging_ on the headboard. “Bitch hustled me.”

You laughed then, dragging a tired hand over your face. “Someone actually hustled you. Fuck, that’s funny.”

“You gonna get me outta these?” He gave a solid pull against the headboard, but nothing happened. Dean was the strongest man you’d ever known, so the fact that he couldn’t get out of a simple pair of handcuffs should have been alarming.

Instead of doing as he asked, you laughed again. You were too tired for this shit.

_There were a group of girls around Dean, laughing and flirting shamelessly. Of course there were. There always was. You rolled your eyes and threw back the newly filled shot glass._

_“Who you trying to forget?” the cute bartender asked._

_“No one,” you lied bitterly. “Don’t suppose you can leave the bottle?” You pulled out a not-so-crisp Franklin and dangled it between your fingers._

_“It’ll be our secret, sweetheart.” He shot you a wink after pocketing the bill, and set the bottle next to your glass._

_An exaggerated laugh from the opposite end of the room made you cringe. You didn’t have to turn around to know that Dean was the one to elicit that kind of reaction. After another shot, you peered over your shoulder and watched as he stood behind the -in your opinion- too thin brunette. With one of his calloused hands on her hip, he corrected the line of her shoulders before caressing her bare arm with his knuckles and holding her wrist loosely._

_You also didn’t need to be over there to hear what he was saying and how he added a sexual spin to it. The only difference between you and all those other woman was the fact that Dean had never said anything remotely sexual to you. You’d overheard him say and do plenty of things that left you with an incessant pulse between your legs that even you couldn’t make go away. Not completely, that is. Not that you hadn’t tried. You’d cum many times with his name on your lips, but there was still something there, an itch you couldn’t scratch, and it was starting to piss you off._

_It was an hour later and the bottle was empty, yet you were still relatively sober. Dean and whatever-her-name was had left a handful of minutes ago. She had been literally hanging on Dean, stumbling slightly, her words slurred, and her hands wandering under Dean’s shirt. He was stumbling slightly, too. Which should have been a red flag, but you were too busy ignoring the surge of irritation that made your heart do this weird double catch in your chest and your belly churn._

_You left at closing, walking the short distance back to the motel. Not wanting to risk seeing Dean in anything resembling naked, you jimmied open a door of the Impala and crashed in the backseat._

Dean was glaring at you. “Come on, Y/N,” he borderlined begged.

“You think I got a spare key or something?” you asked incredulously.

“I know for a fucking fact you do.”

You sputtered for a moment. “That’s besides the point.”

Dean rolled his eyes and smacked his head against the headboard. “Well then tell me, what _is_ the fucking point?”

Your mouth watered at the sight of his exposed neck, the way that one vein pulsed angrily and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. It would be so easy to tell him he could have the key, on one condition. He just needed to fuck you first. Shit. You were actually thinking about propositioning him. Part of your brain said it was wrong, but the part in control of your hormones grabbed the reigns.

Except maybe it wasn’t so wrong, not when Dean was looking at the way he was - his gaze heavy, his eyes roaming up and down the length of your body, his mouth slightly open, tongue peeking over the bottom row of teeth.

Before you knew what you were doing, you dug out your key and stood at the edge of the bed. “I’ll unlock you, but you gotta let me do something first.”

“Anything,” he declared, a deeper tone to his voice, a slight charge to the air.

It was when you started to gnaw on your bottom lip you realized the shirt you were wearing was pretty close to sheer, despite its dark color. You set the key between your teeth and, shooting a playful wink at Dean, you gripped the hem of your shirt, pulled it over your head, and dropped it to the floor.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, shifting on the cheap mattress, the thin blanket slipping from his lap gave you a delicious view of his thick thighs.

Your mouth watered at the sight and it was becoming increasingly difficult to not jump on him. “You still want me to uncuff you?” you asked after removing the key from your teeth.

His pupils blew wide when you unbuttoned your jeans, slowly drug the zipper down, and started to shimmy out of them. Once past the widest part of your hips, they fell to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you in a simple pair of black cotton panties and bra.

He swallowed thickly before asking, “What if I say no?”

You gnawed on your bottom lip, watching with extreme interest as the sheet covering his cock began to tent. “It might actually be more interesting if you can’t touch me.”

Dean’s knuckles were turning white and an obscene moan fell past his perfectly plump lips. “Will you… uh, will you touch me?” he asked, voice slightly tremulous.

With the key between two fingers, you hooked your thumbs into your panties and pushed them down, then reached behind your back and unclasped the matching bra, dropping it to the floor. “Do you want me to?” you breathed, heart pounding in your chest.

It was like every single muscle in his body flexed at the same time, jumping under his skin. The sheet slid completely from his lap and the friction of the rough cotton on his weeping cock-head made him hiss. His head hit the headboard with a dull _thud_. “Fuuuuuuuck, yes, I do.”

You came to stand by the side of the bed and placed the key next to the lamp. It was difficult to meet his eyes, what with the way his thick cock was twitching against his lower belly. The fire in your veins surged and your pussy clenched in anticipation, greedy for Dean’s cock.

Without any further delay, you dropped to your knees on the bed and crawled between his legs, which were now spread, bent at the knee, giving you ample room to move. You placed your hands next to his hips, dropped your head, and ran your nose along the thick length of his cock, pulling in a deep breath as you went. By the time you reached the tip, Dean’s breath was tearing in and out of him and his eyes were almost black, pupils having been exploded by lust.

Your lips brushed across his weeping tip, spreading fat beads of pre-cum back and forth as you asked, “Do you want me to suck your cock?”

Dean didn’t have to answer, his cock did it for him. It pulsed and twitched against your mouth, the velvet head blushing a deeper shade of red, making the opaque beads of pre-cum resemble pearls. Slowly, you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around and giving short little sucks, working your hand up and down, relishing in the throb of it, the pulsing of every vein, the different texture of skin from base to tip. The smell of him as you breathed through your nose; bittersweet, like spice and sweat, the scrape of ginger curls on your nose as you deepthroated him, on your palm as you stroked him and cupped his balls, squeezing them, rolling them between your fingers.

The headboard was banging against the wall and his ass was shooting off the bed, driving himself deeper and deeper into your throat, gagging you, filling the room with wet, slurping, sucking sounds and then he spat out your name, pulling your attention away from his cock.

“I… fuck, Y/N. I…  I don’t wan- wanna cum in your mouth,” he stuttered, the breath catching in his throat.

Humming deep in your throat, his cock popped free and you continued to stroke him languidly as you pulled your legs up, and moved to straddle his lap, spreading your slick along his cock. His head went to fall back, but your hand flew up and you grabbed onto the slightly longer than normal strands, forcing him to keep his attention on you. There was something about eye contact that made you feel both self-conscious and the sexiest woman on earth at the same time.

You were dripping wet and every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. If you didn’t act fast, you were going to cum all over his lap. With your nails scraping over his scalp, you rose up, placed him at your entrance, and so very _slowly_ your knees spread, you slid down, taking him in one glorious thick inch at a time.

It was breathtaking, watching his face twist and contort in a way that on anyone else would look wrong. But it didn’t. Not on him. His mouth fell open and his eyes, though they went in and out of focus, stayed on yours. Your cunt burned deliciously as you stretched around him, your walls fluttering in excited anticipation; the butterflies in your belly had finally been silenced.

Only when you dropped your forehead to his, your hot breath mingling with his, did you kiss him. His lips were lush, pillow-soft, and pliant, made just for kissing. You slanted your mouth over his, swallowing his moan when your tongues met. It wasn’t a battle for dominance like most kisses can be. Rather, it was sweet yet firm, curiosity that was lined with a hint of sexy darkness that you couldn’t describe.

Rocking back and forth on his lap, it was the heavy push and pull of his cock that made you gasp and pull back. Dean bit down on his swollen bottom lip, watching as you grabbed your breasts, roughly twisting and plucking your nipples. Dean pushed his feet into the bed and drove his hips off the bed; a thick, wet slap of his balls on your ass echoed your grunts and cries of approval.

“Lean back,” he said gruffly. “I wanna see.”

You stopped bouncing long enough to lean back. Your hands fell to his thighs, just above the knee, and squeezed the thick muscles as you rolled your hips. “This what you want?” you asked, giving a shriek when his hips shot up again.

Dean growled at the site of his cock driving into you. “Shiiiiit, baby. You take my cock so well,” he praised, his voice shattering, the normal control he had disappeared with every thrust.

The new angle pushed him deeper and you’d swear he was fucking your chest, grinding along your ribs and spine. You were so full, stretched deliciously taut, threatening to burst at the seams. Your breasts bounced erratically and it hurt to breath. There were these black and white spots dancing in your peripheral, swirling together like snowflakes on the wind, growling larger with every beat of your heart.

And that’s when you heard it, the groaning-creak of wood and a sharp metallic snap. In the next second, Dean’s hands were on your hips, pulling you down roughly, slamming against _that one spot_ that sent you reeling. His beard burned your skin as he latched onto a breast, biting and rolling his tongue around your nipple, pulling it tight between his teeth.

You came with a strangled cry of his name, scratching his thighs and shoulder, probably drawing blood, but who the fuck cared because your back was arching and static exploded in your ears. Dean’s damp forehead was on your shoulder and he was grunting, fingers digging deep red and purple marks into your skin, his teeth scraping red welts into your breasts, and his hips were stuttering, losing their rhythm as he came.

It took a while to come down, to stop writhing, moaning as your bodies continued to pulse, electric tingles sparking from the center of your chest to the tips of your fingers and toes. You sat on his lap, kissing him as if you had all the time in the world.

With his hands on your back and the leopard printed fuzz tickling you, you giggled. “Still gonna have to get you outta those cuffs.”

“And then what?” he asked, smirking lopsidedly, dragging calloused hands down to your ass.

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you hummed, getting lost in the way his cock had started to swell inside if you. “I have a few ideas.”


End file.
